


Obligatory- A Matter Of Control

by NowWeOwnTheNight



Series: Haikyuu!! AUs [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, but not AU but kinda yeah, depression/suicidal/self harm, everyone is super gay, i haven't read the manga so idk but karasuno has won nationals, idk its late and I'm sad, lots of gay, tahdah, there's probably social commentary in here but I'm tired and this was written in a few hours, volleyhusbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 05:32:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6892126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NowWeOwnTheNight/pseuds/NowWeOwnTheNight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Noya always sees it as confidence, no matter how hard he tries to reiterate what he was taught in middle school.<br/>“An ancient partnership built on sensations- tactility and the senses alone. Primal. It in no way defines the validity of your relationship- they’re not stone-set, it’s just an optimal pairing in the eyes of the natural order. Emotion has nothing to do with the partnering, but it often becomes a factor as people grow together. In the end, it’s simply an indication. The fact that you find one another will grow yourselves, not the mark… and not everyone has a mark, but you are no less deserving and capable of love.”<br/>Everyone in that cohort knew the last part was only said to make Tanaka feel better.<br/>Everyone knew the harsh reality. </p><p>It was pure luck that they’d had an open minded and opinionated teacher for the presentation, too. Hate groups had formed as early as middle school- hell- Tanaka was picked on in grade school by classmates and teachers alike; this world is just not ready to accept the mate-less. Apparently, that freckle in the crease between his thumb and hand was not a soul mark, no matter how hard he squinted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Obligatory- A Matter Of Control

**Author's Note:**

> lmao if you watch/read haikyu then i am sO SORRY IM TRYING TO BE CANON BUT IM ALSO BUTCHERING IT BUT WHO CARES I WROTE THIS IN A FEW HOURS BC I GOT THE IDEA AND IT WOULDN’T LEAVE MY HEAD !!!!!!  
> YOU ABSOLUTE ASSHOLE CBIH [I DON’T KNOW YOUR NAME I ONLY KNOW YOUR TUMBLR AAAA] STOP MESSAGING ME BUT ALSO NEVER FUCK OFF OM F IM- SORRY FOR MAKING TANAKA MORE SAD THAN YOU WANTED [OR NOT SAD ENOUGH I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT YOU WERE GOING FOR] BUT YES IMAGINE IT IMAGINE IT THIS WOULD BE INCREDIBLE  
> AND GUYS [IF YO FOUND YOURSELF HERE] I KNOWIKNOWIKNOW I SHOULD BE WORKING ON THE 5SOS THINGS BUT HEY THIS GOT IN MY H E A D AND I COULDN’T GET IT O U T SO I H A D TO WRITE IT IM SORRY KAY BYE GONNA GO BACK TO WORKING ON THE THINGS NO W BYE
> 
> The tattoo-soulmate thing me and CBIH came up with is as follows in brief bc im in a hurryyy:  
> Everyone starts with a tiny thing e.g. a dash, dot, squiggle, swirl, smiley face somewhere on the wrist of either arm. As a relationship goes, the tattoo blooms and progresses through five stages: 1] seeing any part of body 2] hugging with a more-than-basic-friend purpose 3] kissing in any way 4] intercourse by definition of penetration lmao im twELVE i laughed while writing that 5] saying ‘i love you’ and meaning it.  
> The system is based on nature not on ‘fate’ so it isn’t all that reliable- it goes off the most ‘optimal’ partnership[s]. It isn’t set in stone, nor do the stages have to happen in order- if at all. E.g. people can fall in love over the phone [genuinely] and get their stage five before anything else. People can fall onto each other on a bus and apologise without seeing each other, thus getting their ‘2’ [but youd feel it and instantly turn around like yOO !!! and get your ‘1’ and also hOW WOULD YOU MANAGE IT BUT]- ANYWAY MOVING ON:  
> The marks are ‘activated’ on the person’s sixteenth birthday- any interaction of the above stages PRIOR to the sixteenth birthday will occur then and are ‘pleasurable’ [not sure what you meant by that but I just glossed over it haha]  
> People with no soul marks: think being gay pre 60’s- or like, 90’s, or even now [in some places]- you’re hated, you gotta hide it, you might get arrested for it and will probably be bashed or otherwise assaulted for it at some point in life and undergo constant harassment. It sucks [poor Tanaka].  
> Aaaand that’s all I can think of. Feel free to use this idea if you’ve never heard it before [im sure this version of tattoo soulmates exists somewhere] but tell me if you do bc I wanna KNOw and read stuff and yeah kay b y e

+-o-+

 

Noya had been hanging around with the same group of assholes since grade school.

So, when they hit sixteen over the scattered span of two years, it was wholly unsurprising that everyone’s soul marks bloomed, blasting up to stage three: first kiss with ones soulmate.

Except for Tanaka.

Tanka never even have a mark to begin with. They all joke that this is because no one could keep up with him but, deep down, it’s merely a mask for every night they’ve ever spent consoling him, trying to reconcile with the fact that he’s mate-less, convincing him that he doesn’t need one to be happy.

Tanaka is rarely _Happy_ in its true sense. His bare arm is a distinct opposite to the blissful people walking down very street and corridor, thick and thin black designs curling or barring or blanketing. No… Tanaka’s forearms are decorated with white, pink, sometimes swollen, tender red.

“Noya? Pass?”

_Oh. I must’ve caught the ball._

Daichi holds his hands out expectantly, a provoking grin gracing the captain’s features, adding a glint of jest to the puppy-soft eyes. He can basically hear it: _cheer up, Noya, cheer up, Noya, cheer up-_

“Right.” He tosses the ball smoothly, automatically rotating on the spot, facing left-field before the play resumes.

_Asahi._

That’s what he was thinking about.

Initially.

Out of the lot of them, by the time they reached high school, Daichi and Suga were the only ones who had reached stage five. It wasn’t like they could hide it, either- Suga practically glowed for a week and Daichi limped and sat out of practice for two whole days; absolutely unheard-of. Their relationship was out of both comfort and convenience. And a _lot_ of love. That goes without saying, given the spread of blossoms coating both of their strong arms that notes the growth of their touches, familiarities, feelings.

Noya always sees it as confidence, no matter how hard he tries to reiterate what he was taught in middle school.

_“An ancient partnership built on sensations- tactility and the senses alone. Primal. It in no way defines the validity of your relationship- they’re not stone-set, it’s just an optimal pairing in the eyes of the natural order. Emotion has nothing to do with the partnering, but it often becomes a factor as people grow together. In the end, it’s simply an indication. The fact that you find one another will grow yourselves, not the mark… and not everyone has a mark, but you are no less deserving and capable of love.”_

Everyone in that cohort knew the last part was only said to make Tanaka feel better.

Everyone knew the harsh reality.

It was pure luck that they’d had an open minded and opinionated teacher for the presentation, too. Hate groups had formed as early as middle school- _hell_ \- Tanaka was picked on in grade school by classmates and teachers alike; this world is just _not ready_ to accept the mate-less. Apparently, that freckle in the crease between his thumb and hand was _not_ a soul mark, no matter how hard he squinted.

The outstanding effect ‘lacking a soul mark’ had on Tanaka went some way in enforcing this lack of security for Noya [Tanaka doesn’t lack _anything_ , in Noya’s eyes].

_Who is it?!_

_Which one of you is it?_

Naturally, the suggestion of everyone taking turns to fuck was supposed- a bland and bitter Tanaka -as quickly as it was cut off by Suga:

_“You’ll know” Suga had said, “You probably already do. Just take your own time.”_

_“So no meaningless sex.” Daichi repeated, less grumpy because Suga was talking. And also pressed against his side. Those two were- and still are -disgustingly cute._

_“If you’re horny, dry hump or some shit, like I care.”_

_Tanaka opened his mouth to make another suggestion- Suga was quicker to quell the mutters of suggestiveness within the group of friends sleeping over in his basement. “No orgies, either!” He shouted, the lot of them cackling when Tanaka’s mouth snapped shut, feet kicking at the cuddling pair._

 

_‘You’ll know.’_

Those words echo in Noya’s ears on loop, a never-ending explanation for Asahi’s weighted glances off-court and instinctual strides forward, backwards, and around his libero when in play. Which, currently-

“Noya-san!!”

An expertly spiked toss sends him flying- _Hinata_ , judging by the screeching voice and incredible speed at which the ball hits his face –and, in the daze of a tingling nose and a lump swelling the back of his head from where he’d hit the floor, Noya regains his racing train of thought momentarily before backing out.

_Asahi._

 

+-o-+

 

“Noya-san!”

**SMACK**

**Whump**

To say Tanaka lost it the second Noya’s face collided with the ball would have been a huge understatement.

“Ha- hahah _ahaha_!! Holy _shit, I- hahahahahaaahaha!!_ ”

“Stop it, Tanaka!” But crinkles are breaking the usually smoothed skin around Daichi’s eyes all the same, no matter how hard Suga elbows him.

“Hinata, you dumbass!!” Kageyama roars, slapping at the ginger.

“It’s not like I was _aiming_ for him, idiot!” The smaller boy squeaks, fending off his setter’s punches. In the epicenter of their fight, the fully formed soul markings strike together, matching up in breathtaking beauty.

Shouyou and Kageyama, Tanaka’s noticed, are very well represented by their markings. Granted, that’s not the universal rule for soul marks- and trust him, he _knows_ , he probably knows as much about soulmates as leading scientists in the field.

It’s just… stunning.

Kageyama’s calculated, even strokes around the lower part of his forearm, crisscrossed like the volleyball net, is a sharp contrast to the eddying, beautified beginning of Hinata’s- every component of the scenic base of his mark an epitome of freedom. A similarity is found in their second stage, although contrast is evident, ever-present. There are more straight lines in Hinata’s treetops and clouds, and wavering movements to Kageyama’s as the lines of the net separate, join and blur, twist and curl and sharpen into a mountainous image constructed of pure lines.

It was honest: that hug they’d shared was borne out of hardship and reaching for new heights, practicing the same toss and spike over, and over, and over again.

Moving up to stage three, both dull out to a dappling of dots. In Hinata’s case, they’re like black freckles, but Kageyama has a more ‘Traditional’ stage three: a large block of black to accentuate unfilled parts on his pale skin. _Stars_ , they say. Their first kiss one night during the very first training camp with Nekoma.

“Hah, how far we’ve come…” Tanaka murmurs. He feels someone pat his back softly. Yamaguchi, probably, but he can never be sure anymore.

The final two stages of the fighting pair’s marks, Tanaka has no clue in to the details of _how_ they were formed, nor does he _want_ to find out. Above the stars lie waves running in opposite directions- or saw edges, however you want to look at them. Noya and Tsukki tease them endlessly for these, claiming the violent-looking waves to be representations of their sex life. Inherently, Tanaka knows everyone on the team is incredibly jealous for the perfect correlation and balance in the pair’s soul marks, envying the story-like progression.

The intricate design of a lace-like sun and crescent moon are emblazoned high on their shoulders. The patterns surely would’ve fit together and fill one another out if overlain…

That’s something Tanaka can’t understand, let alone bear to hear the story behind.

_My loneliness will be all too real…_

_And to think… It all started with a dot and a dash._

Hinata, before he turned sixteen, had a tiny circle on the top of his wrist, centered between the two lumps of bone. It became the soil for the trees in his stage one. Ironic, really, as he’s the least grounded of the two. Well, he appears to be, anyway. Kageyama’s was a single stroke he’d named his hyphen- his cue to _wait_. At the speed they fell for one another, one would assume they did anything but.

It’s clear, so blindingly, painfully clear to Tanka how Kageyama and Hinata are represented by their tattoos. Presently, their display makes the little things appear to be just that- _little things_. A sweating, swearing punch-up- slap fight, really –with spitting words; forests demolished by rocky hills, lines snagged, broken from their formulae, formal paths. Bright and dark in all the perfect spots, eyes flashing, facing forward into the bright lights each shine for the other.

Those smaller moments he mentioned? Yeah, those are what the team _live for_ , more so than the ridiculous arguments and resulting fights between the two first years.

Hinata complimenting Kageyama’s toss- windswept plains given another breath of life. Kageyama fussing over Hinata’s school work- calm tranquility to the bustling canopy, water to the roots of the boundless forest. Aced tosses and spikes- safe nets of the free-falls, gales under massive wings. A harmonious conjunction punctuated by colourful dashes of ripples on their perfectly tensioned surface, bouts of testiness straining the perfection.

Daichi and Suga- now, _they_ are an entirely different story.

Both boys began with a mere fleck of black which blossomed- literally –into twin cherry blossom trees; Suga’s forming a negative image to Daichi’s black outlines. In truth to the fashion, the trees sprouted into being as saplings- a bunch of twigs and buds, quivering lines and splotched dots. Progressively overtaken by newer versions, their trees advanced rapidly and, if they were able to stay still long enough, could have been filmed over the first few hours of their respective sixteenth birthdays it took to grow into mature cherry blossoms. The catch-up for young soulmates is an intensely pleasurable experience- _apparently_ , not like Tanaka would know, _thanks_ for reminding him –so the early hours of those fateful days were spent in secret, locked behind bedroom doors, lewd sounds flooding from not-so-innocent touches. None of them needed the confirmation of Daichi’s birthday- being the younger of the two –it as quiet clear they were made for each other from the start, identically designed soul marks or not.

However…

The thing about the system is that the image represents who _you_ are, the growth of the mark creating a visual representation of how your soulmate has _changed you_. Of course, there are holes within holes of the system. With sex no longer seen as a ‘must’ for romantic relationships, platonic love now recognized as very legitimate and intimate bonds, and virginity becoming a dying concept, stage four isn’t a necessity. Nor stage three, two, or even five.

None of it is _necessary_ , really. The match-up is simply nature’s optimal course. Emotion rarely has anything to do with it.

Not all soul marks _need_ to be similar. Some don’t even relate at all, seemingly random pictures or patterns that no one would think put together.

 _See: Metaphors,_ Tanaka growls internally, _it’s all fucking visionary and I’m not part of it, I’m meant for no one…_ and so continues his buzzing background noise. _Not important. Thinking subjectively, objectively, whichever one is right, I don’t fucking know, who gives a shit-_

Take Tsukishima and Tadashi for example.

Where Tsukki’s arm is an incredibly beautiful depiction of what they can only guess is a Stegosaurus drinking from a lake whose reflection is bursting with starlight- so artistic it’s nearly unrecognizable –Yamaguchi’s is a very simplistic collection of bubbles streaking up to his elbow, a few of the spheres half complete. Stage three, apparently. Not that it matters, they’re practically conjoined, it’d be stupid if they _weren’t_ soul mates. Everyone’s impatient to see how Tsukki’s will turn out. Not that Tsukishima cares… not that he ever does give a shit… no, all Tsukki’s excited to see is the unfolding of his ‘little Yama’s’ soul mark. Maybe because Yamaguchi is painfully underwhelmed by his bubbles, maybe because Tsukki genuinely does want to see the rest of the soul mark- Tanaka doesn’t care for the schematics that much. It’s Tsukki and Yamaguchi: they sort each other out just fine [although he does _love_ calling Yamaguchi ‘Little Yama’, _just_ to ignite Tsukishima’s jealous side]. Yamaguchi’s further out of his shell around the tall blonde, and Tsukishima is absolute mush for his dark-haired boy… depending on the day, that is.

Another odd pair is that of Coach Ukai- a simplistic arrangement of a crow taking flight -and Takeda-senpai- a mural of hectic proportions one could spend hours looking at and still struggle to understand.

And who could _not_ notice the insane vine pattern that curled around Bokuto’s bulging arm, the entirely unrelated assortment of bars Akaashi’s is plastered with, linked only by the clasped hands of the two boys on the late nights of the joint practice tournament in Tokyo from what feels like _eons_ ago: nights spent talking about volleyball _[“Yeah, except for four-eyes here and his-” “Fuck off about my blocks already!!”]_ , love _[“… Yeah, so…” “Um. Bokuto, you…” “What?” “Uhhhmmm…” “Oh- oh, shit-” “Akaashi, damn, you two are pretty kinky-” “Don’t go under that blanket! We know you can hear us! We can hear Bokuto’s muffled screams from here-” “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up fuck the- fuck!”]_ , bitching about Oikawa _[“Oh my god he’s such a bitch” “I know, right?!” “But he’s preeetty-” “Yeah…” “…” “…” “… I was gonna say ‘good’-” “So was I!!!” “You think he’s hot!!” “No I don’t-” “So do I- wait.” “Wait.”]_ , wagering on how many slices of pizza can Noya eat in a minute _[“Noya, no-” “Noya YES!!” **three minutes later** “Two whole pizzas.” “What the fuck.” “Where does it all go?!” “Arghhh fuck my stomach aah Asa-san, you- I leave you all my things, go to my house- burn my will- what’s mine is yours-” “Noya stop saying that shit!! Asahi- Asahi’s not breathing!” “I think he passed out!”]_, more volleyball _[“If you criticize my blocks one more time I will shove a volleyball up your ass I swear to god.” “Four-eyes, come now… No need for that… I… I wonder if anyone has actually tried to fit a volleyball up their -“ “And END of conversation!!” “Aw Suga you’re no fun!”]_ , meat _[Meat is god! Meat is-” “Get off the fucking table!” “If you four sing that one more time I will make sure there is no barbeque!”]_ , dicks _[“No, mine’s totally longer!” “Kuroo, really? Are you blind?” “No but you are, four-eyes-” “Stop calling me four-eyes!”]_ , house-sharing _[“So, Daichi, Suga-” “It’s established, everyone knows it, shut the fuck up Kuroo.” “Fuck, they are married, aren’t they?!” “Team mum! Team mum! Team-” “That’s it! I’m out! I’m going outside!” “S-Suga, wait!” “… Hah, of course Daichi follows his wife everywhere.” “You should see them at home practice. ‘S gross.”]_ , more Oikawa gossip _[“So wait why didn’t Oikawa get in to Shiratozawa?” “I don’t know, maybe he was a bit too creepy a setter, eh, Kageyama?” “Fuck off!!” “… Maybe he just wasn’t that driven-” “He’s always around that Iwa-guy, maybe he didn’t want to leave-” “Aren’t they soulmates?” “No, the Great King doesn’t even have stage one markings-” “What?!” “But- with all the girls- the- the stories… surely…” “Man, fuck Oikawa he’s probably his own soulmate.” “Yeah! Psh can you imagine...”]_ … you know, the works.

_Fuck, I can go on… can’t I? So many memories… huh…_

In a similar strand of general ‘mistaking’ around the mark’s system…

Noya and Asahi.

Call Tanaka unbonded, call him loveless and unloved, uninteresting and unwanted, strip him of his happiness and outcast him, _whatever_.

But there is nothing- _nothing_ more obvious than the bond between his two best friends.

It’s not fulfilling, like Kageyama and Hinata.

It’s not rock-solid, like Daichi and Suga.

It’s not a quiet perfection like Tsukishima and Yamaguchi, and it’s nowhere near the brash display of Bokuto and Akaashi.

It’s not even like Kuroo and Kenma’s unobtrusive, shy bond, and their completely swept under-the-rug manner of approaching the subject… although it’s a near thing.

 _Rug-sweeping_ is Noya’s specialty, _quiet and shy_ is Asahi’s.

So, you see Tanaka’s frustration.

…

No?

Need it spelt out?

Okay.

D E N S I T Y.

Or

S H Y N E S S

Or even

C A U T I O N

D E N I A L

F E A R

In Tanaka’s view?

Pure irony.

He is the epitome of the _‘just kiss already!!’_ friend, the torchbearer for frustration towards unrequited love. What’s more, he doesn’t even have it in him to be one of _those_ people and confront it with the ‘you _have_ to _because_ you have a soul mark and _I don’t_ so don’t _waste_ this, why would you _have_ it and not _want to_ _do anything about it?’_ mind frame. It’s merely _infuriating_. Almost as infuriating as _not_ having a soul mark.

Okay. _That’s_ over-exaggerating. He swore he’d stop doing that… How irritating…

“Baka-geyama!!”

_Speaking of irritating…_

“Don’t call me that!”

“Ow! That’s my spiking arm!”

“You kicked me in the face!”

“Yeah well you deserved it!!”

_Oh. Yes._

_A few seconds have passed, and I completely picked apart my friend’s relationships. I do that a lot._

_Thinking._

_Thinking…_

_Thinking hurts._

He hardly registers Daichi breaking up the fight as Suga hovers over Noya, Asahi waiting at his shoulder with a twitching eye, a water bottle clutched in his hands. Usual numbness- plus the throb wracking his entire brain and an ache in his gut -overpowers Tanaka: _migraines, more migraines. What was that tea Suga told me to drink? Was it tea? Do I even like tea? I think it was from Africa. Noya likes Oolong. Or was that Lev. Or. Ouch, fuck, my fucking head, ah._

“Honestly, fuck this.” He grunts aloud, probably, storming between the heckles of Kageyama and flying fists of Hinata, snatching the first bottle he reaches from the basket before stepping outside.

Karasuno High has been shut for the day, so the campus is as stony and sullen as the buildings themselves. Birds are twittering nervously in bushes, crows sailing overhead, cawing to one another languidly. A distant buzz saw churns the atmosphere alongside a hammer hitting down on metal, taking what remains of bliss and beating it to a pulp.

 _Nails to my coffin, pieces of my heart…_ Tanaka wonders, _I’m in too far. It just sounds stupid. Even to me._

Bones clack when he sets down heavily onto the pavement.

Despite how he acts, Tanaka had never been the biggest of the team- built more on wiry muscle hiding a quick, powerful snap or flex than the blatant, blister-like shreddedness that people like Daichi and Asahi and even Suga possess.

_I know I’m strong…_

_Out here…_

_But… I’m so… weak…_

His hand fists the front of his gym shirts, nails clawing into the fabric to itch the scratch behind his ribs, in front of his spine: where his heart would be.

_… In here…_

“Tana…”

The voice is soft, subdued, from beside him. His eyes are squeezed shut against his kneecaps and _oh_ , he’s curled up, he must look _pathetic._

 _Suga_ , he realizes, _of course it’s Suga._

_How many times does this have to happen?_

“Hey, _mom_.” He manages to laugh. The second Suga’s hand strokes down the terse planes of his back, Tanaka finds it impossible to hold back. Tears spill down his shins, no matter how hard he forces his head down.

“Breathe, Tana. Shhh…”

There’s no reason for them to be at school, so thankfully there’s no straggling students or staff members to intervene or try and send him to the nurse’s office. It’s a Saturday. They had just _fucking win Nationals three days ago._ But… the group text started up and everyone agreed to meet for a bit of practice [Kenma got involved at some point because apparently, next weekend, they’re heading to Tokyo over the weekend to meet up with the other teams… but the details are fuzzy to him].

Suga helps him uncurl a little, pulling the bald boy into his side. Tanaka weeps, nose snotting all over Suga’s sleeve and the moisture from his nose and mouth tracking droplets down the back of Suga’s shirt. When the older boy’s cold hands run lightly, so gingerly, up his arms, Tanaka quiets, if only a little… he knows what’s coming. The action is soothing, regardless of the bumps Suga’s fingertips brush over, of the way Tanaka’s arms- his whole body –quivers with stress, despair. Smoothing, sincere presses of consolation move over the protrusion of his bony elbows. Here is where Tanaka flinches. Suga draws back straightaway.

“Tana…” Suga’s voice isn’t weak or blubbering like it used to be three, four years ago, no, it’s a gentle command. Controlled. Reassuring. One Tanaka knows is pointless to rebut. “Sit in front of me.” No ‘ _please’,_ either, and were Tanaka any less distraught, he’d bring up the issue in his usual joking way. Suga isn’t rude, though, and this situation doesn’t require ‘ _please’_ s and ‘ _thank_ _you_ ’s.

He shifts to the lower step, crossing his legs, head bowed. His crying continues, an unstoppable flow of pent-up emotion over the past few days. _Like clockwork_. Suga’s palms make their way to his elbows once more, sliding up the arms of the black shirt Tanaka has on under his practice singlet. The cuts are deeper than they usually were.

 _Maybe he thought he could get away with it_ , Suga ponders, biting back a groan, gnawing his lip to distract from the prickling on the backs of his eyes. _Or maybe he just thought… that we wouldn’t notice. After the win, after celebrating, coming back to school and everyone was… he must’ve been overwhelmed. And he didn’t… talk to us, damn…_

Suga doesn’t need to ask ‘why’ anymore. He understands perfectly well. Even so, he restrains from shouting, demanding to know why Tanaka _hadn’t_ come to someone, hadn’t realized it was not only getting _bad_ , but _worse_ than usual. They _were_ deep; the tears where whatever sharp object he’d used _had_ to be painful. How he’d managed to keep up with all those practice spikes and receives earlier is dumbfounding to Suga.

“Tana… was this-”

“Yes it was last night, _just_.” He chokes wetly, angrily wiping a hand over his nose. “Please, hurry up… I want to keep playing.”

Suga eyes him, warily this time.

_It’s not like you to try and... get back out there after a breakdown… is this good or bad? Building or self destruction? Does he just want more pain? Or does he really want to play?_

“Daichi!”

“Huh?” Daichi, who _obviously_ was waiting on the edge of his metaphorical seat, is already pulling bandages out of the aid kit when Suga replies:

“Bandages…” But Suga’s attention is still fixated on Tanaka’s downcast gaze, the fluttering tendons of his neck, the rippling of his tense, knotted back beneath the shirt and singlet combination. “Besides, Tana… Noya’s still down. Hina really got a good shot.”

Tanaka giggles, stifled and through labored breaths, but _thank fuck he’s laughing, he’s not too out of it at all… maybe this is a step up… maybe, we’ll… have to see…_

“Figures,” He gets out, “Shrimp got him good. Too busy… Fawning over Asahi… the idiot…”

“Both of them, Tana, I know, they’re both dickheads, aren’t they?”

“Yeah.” He nearly laughs properly, the restraints of soreness and anxiety faded somewhat.

“Yeah…” Suga’s hands are still icy cold on the soft underside of his biceps, ebbing the swelling. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

“Fuck off, Suga.” Tanaka grumbles, and _oh shit, more tears, I’m so sorry, Tana, I shouldn’t have-_ “You’re- thank you…”

“Yeah, none of that, Tana-Baka.”

“Don’t steal _their_ thing, stupid.”

“You’re doing it too!”

“But you started it!”

“Don’t call me stupid, stupid!”

“I can call you _stupid_ , they don’t _own_ that!”

“Then why cant I call you Tana-Baka?!” Finally, Tanaka is giggling again. Music to Suga’s ears, as it always is. Daichi steps up to their sides, placing the bandages in his boyfriend’s lap.

“Because that’s Hinata and Kageyama’s thing, right, Tana?”

“Right!”

“Come on, Suga,” Daichi urges, “ Noya still isn’t up and Asahi is starting to disintegrate.”

“I’m not their fucking mothers- you lot, I _swear_.” Mutters Suga as he holds out Tanaka’s arm, carefully applying the roll of fabric to cover all the fresh wounds, “I’m going to go grey early.”

“You… Suga, your hair _is grey_.”

“Fuck you, Daichi.”

Suga thanks Tanaka for defending his honor, moves on to the next arm, expertly tying off the first bandage. “Isn’t this at least a little bit fucked?”

Tanaka seems to have recovered quickly.

Daichi groans almost inaudibly.

“Yeah, Tana, we… really have to… get a better plan for-”

“I’m telling you, I’m working on it.” Tanaka doesn’t sound harsh. Or scared, or defensive, only… defeated. Resigned. “I’m… I’m just so…”

“We are here, okay? Daichi crouches down and places a hand on Tanaka’s shoulder, wrapping the other around Suga’s broad frame. “For you, for each other, get it? Marks mean nothing, Tana, we- you just have to keep telling yourself that and maybe, someday, you’ll start to believe it.”

“I’m trying…” He mumbles, leaning into the arms on him, around him, until they’re holding him up, pulling him close. “Trust me, guys, I really am trying.”

“We believe you, Tana.” Hugging him impossibly closer, Daichi is sure his words will get across. Belief. Hope is what Tanaka needs the most.

“It’s just really hard, you know?” Tanaka huffs, pitched up at the end in a minute sob.

“Hey, now,” Suga leans back, tugging Tanaka with him so he can wipe under the younger boy’s eyes, “Let’s not start crying again, Daichi is the worst when people cry, we’ve established this.”

More wet chuckles escape from Tanaka.

“Stupid Daichi...”

_Okay. He’s alright…_

“Come on, whenever you two are ready-”

Tanaka all but bounds to his feet, stumbling a little as he rubs at his face, trying to clear some of the wet lines, turning the pink of his cheeks to a light red.

“Up, let’s go. I wanna see Asahi freak out, it always brightens my day.”

“I can _hear you!!”_ Screeches Asahi, “ _Sadistic bastard!!”_

 _Wow, yeah, he really is going nuts_ … Tanaka cackles internally.

“Is Noya _still_ not up?! Come on, prince charming, you suck at this! Give him a kiss!!”

“ _Fuck you, Tanaka!!_ ”

Suga is dashing inside at Tanaka’s exclamation, the other two following.

“We might need the nurse,” He frets, like the typical volley-mum he is, “Daichi, just in case Asahi isn’t… uh…”

“Shit, nice shot, shorty!” Tanaka woops, leaning over Noya’s limp body in glee, trying to get a better look at the bruising on the libero’s forehead. It’s see-through, his liveliness, but everyone tries to go along.

“Hah, that’s what I thought!” Tsukki crows, lifting Tanaka’s mood with his ecstatic shouting, “Hinata’s jump and speed with an Asahi-like strength power shot? There’s no team that can stand in our way with a shot like that!”

“Because fuck knows how thick Noya-san’s skull is, right?” Drones Kageyama.

“Damnit, Kageyama, be sympathetic!” Ennoshita exclaims, Tanaka and Tsukki cackling, not having to blatantly prompt Kageyama to join their hi-fives. _Character development,_ notes Tanaka as their hands collide in lout claps of _victory_.

_And then, on the other side of the coin… these idiots._

“Noya!” Asahi yelps, thunderous yet small, a pitiful noise from one so large. He’s distressed from all the extra sound. Tanaka can relate, so he stops laughing- Tsukishima is a little more heartless, surprisingly. They can see a pulse, the rise and fall of Noya’s shirt, _he’s alive_ , Tsukki wants to yell, _he’s alive, calm the fuck down, everyone!_

“Shouting at him isn’t going to do any good, Asahi,” Daichi tries to sedate the hyperventilating boy, “And nor is crying, fuck, calm down.”

“Yeah, yelling at corpses isn’t gonna do shit, Asahi.” Tsukki teases.

Noya’s right hand twitches, slowly begins to clench.

Asahi weeps for joy.

“I’m… not… dead… fucking… Tsukishima… bastard-ass…”

“Yeah, he’s gonna be fine.” Suga deems, nodding at Hinata, “Good power shot, Shouyou. Keep it up.”

Hinata beams.

“Thanks, Suga!”

“Learn to aim, chibi-chan.” Tsukki adds.

“Thanks, T- _wait_! Hey!”

“Hina… hey… Hinata…”

Hinata turns to Noya, now sitting up with his back to Asahi’s chest, sipping gratefully from the bottle the taller boy offers. “Nice shot, Shouyou.”

“Hey!” Hinata laughs, the two short boys grinning at one another. “Thanks! It did feel good!”

“Oh, I _know_!”

Suga thrusts a bottle into Tanaka’s hands.

“Fluids, idiot.” He explains fondly, swigging liberally from his own.

 

+-o-+

 

“Are you okay?” Asahi asks him for probably the tenth time on their walk to the shops. Noya was forced to slow down, head dizzy to the point of agonizing un-coordination. Asahi offered to keep an eye on him because _of course he did_.

“Stop asking me, Asa-san, it won’t make this headache go away.”

“Sorry, I’m just-”

“Worried, I know.” Noya sighs, clumsily running a hand down the one clutched on his shoulder. He traces the checkered band engulfing a majority of Asahi’s forearm, scratching lightly at the thunderclouds, lightning striking upwards over the crook of his elbow. By the time their fingers meet and Noya snugly links them together, face flushed red and hot, he can see the goosebumbps rising on Asahi’s skin, could count each individual raised hair, long enough. “I’m fine, Asa-san. Just sore.”

“Tell me if anything changes, okay? You fell pretty hard.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t want you to hurt.”

“Yeah.”

“I couldn’t stand it, you know?”

“I know.”

“Because I…” Asahi stops himself, shivering.

It’s hardly cold.

“Asa-san?”

“You mean a lot to me, you know…? I…”

“I know, Asa-san...”

“I…”

“I know. I… yeah…”

“Hm.” Asahi nods. They walk a few more paces, Noya’s hands beginning to tremble, his feet stumbling and kicking at the ground, feeling too big for his body. Asahi’s no better off; sweating profusely from nervousness, flustered and flushed all over, from his face to the backs of his hands, one of which is twisting in the cotton of Noya’s singlet.

He skids to an abrupt stop, whirling to face Noya, an expression seen all to many times before.

But Noya gets there first-

“I _love you-”_ He shouts, covering his mouth immediately after as though he could stuff the words back in, garbling an apologetic-sounding “ _Asahi_!” and gasping into his palms, scandalized as if Asahi had been the one confessing

“I love you too!” Asahi speaks with no control or awareness of his volume, equally as mangled, a mess of shining eyes and hair curled from sweat of the practice session earlier in the afternoon and toothy grins sporadic with gasps. So what- he may’ve shouted it, he may have whispered it, but none of that matters now because, high on Noya’s shoulder, a thick, black ace of spades card is forming, the outline casting itself almost instantaneously; filling in solids takes a while, he’s heard from Suga. Asahi’s lightning strikes extend into straight, vertical lines, still forming, growing, stretching, but he barely has time to see where they’ll end- Noya is shoving him against a random house’s corrugated iron fence and staggering onto the tips of his toes for a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. Asahi- probably five different ways of shocked and bordering thirty levels of _fucked_ , fucking _gone_ for Noya –tries his best to respond. He’s fairly sure he just stood there, knees a little bent to accommodate Noya’s height, gaping like a fish out of water while the shorter boy licked in to his mouth.

“Yes!!” Someone, undoubtedly Tanaka, howls from further down the street, “Get it, Noya!”

“Tanaka, don’t be so- oh, fuck, Daichi, look!” _Suga_ , Asahi reasons, _his voice goes all pitchy like that when he’s happy._

“Keep it moving, Noya-san, we have buns to eat!” Tsukishima jabs, pegging a rock up the hill at them, “Well, so do you, now, but…” The rock bounces harmlessly a few feet away but Asahi growls and shields Noya from the offending object regardless. “Oh, overprotective, cute!! Now hurry up and-”

“Comin’!” Noya wheezes, seemingly satisfied as he leans away, resting fully on his feet, mouth spit-slicked, eyes full of tears.

“Noya!” Asahi cries, hugging the tiny boy, “Don’t cry!!”

“You’re a fucking hypocrite and I’m _not crying_!”

“Then how am I a h-hypocrite?!”

“Shut up, Asa-san!”

“Ah,” Suga sighs, “Young love.”

Tanaka kicks him in the back. Hinata cheers. Kageyama kicks _him_ in the back. The whole group cracks up and wait for Noya to lumber into heir midst, dragging a beet-red, still sweating Asahi behind him. The moment can’t even be ruined by Tsukishima’s “Now all you have to do is fuck”, or Tanaka’s “ _Bwahaha_ , did you _see_ that old lady’s face?!”.

And _finally_ , even after a win at National level and playing Ace in front of _thousands_ and coming together as a team to triumph- and, less importantly: _generally_ _passing_ at high school… Finally…

Asahi finally feels like things are under control in his life.

 

+-o-+

 

“Stop the bus!”

“Hinata, we’re one meter from the gates- we- this isn’t even a _practice_ tournament-!”

Hinata ignores coach Ukai and jumps out the window of the moving bus.

“Hinata, you dumbass! What are you doing!?” Even if they were all blind and deaf, they’d know exactly who’s shouting and what he’s saying. “We’re already at Fukurodani, get back on the-”

“ _Kenmaaaa_!” Hinata whines, bolting into the small thicket of trees crowding the road. Takeda parks, opening the bus door- _instantly_ flooded with over-exuberant high school boys. Kageyama’s first off, unsurprisingly. Kenma and Hinata race- well, Hinata runs, Kenma plods –out of the shrubs, greeting the lot excitedly- again, Hinata excitedly, Kenma with the tiniest of smiles as he nods to the Karasuno boys.

“They’re here!!” Booms a voice. A distinct voice, one that has a particular character to it- one that everybody knows all too well.

The front doors of the school burst open.

“Hey, hey _hey_!!” Bokuto hoots, flinging himself down he steps and across the parking lot, slapping Daichi on the back on his way to Tsukishima. “Good job on the win, Karasuno! But you are still no match for me!! Ha ha ha!!”

“Boku, shut up, they beat us.” Akaashi grumbles. Unlike the dense, black growth of vines that are paraded freely on Bokuto’s arm, Akaashi crosses his arms in a nearly timid movement, sidestepping the group heading for the school and dropping in to step with Asahi. Noya and Tsukishima are picking a fight with his boyfriend- Bokuto loves causing mischief and those two Karasuno boys _react_ -so Akaashi knows he can chat with the Ace one-on-one without his painfully covetous and demanding boyfriend interrupting.

“So, Asahi. Nice bird cage.” The gentle giant, Karasuno’s lovely Ace, squeaks and jumps. “Ah, you were in thought. Sorry.”

“No-no, it’s fine, I- ah, um, thank you?”

“I’m happy for you. I don’t know if anyone has told you, but… you look more at ease.”

Asahi frowns. _How adorable_.

“How can you t-”

“And Noya-san is a lucky guy-”

“ _How_ can you-”

“I’m glad he gets along with Bokuto so well. Those two have way too much energy, right?”

“You are absolutely right.”

The man mountain sighs. They look back through the crowd in time to witness Bokuto holding Hinata’s phone high above his head and occasionally tossing it to Tsukishima, the red head jumping for it with Noya clinging on to him, all four of them giggling.

“Hm.” Asahi faces forward to watch where he’s going, ascending the stairs into the school. Akaashi doesn’t have to look, having walked up these stairs _too_ many times. “It’ll be absolute hell when Kuroo finds us. He and Bokuto are _disgusting_ when they’re together, and he riles up Tsukishima too much...”

“… So, Nekoma is here, I see?” Asahi’s too confused by that statement to even begin questioning it.

“Yes, they all arrived at lunch time today. It’s just the three of us, too. The three clubs… Hey, and. I’m so happy for you guys. Winning, that is. You deserved it.”

“Th-thanks.”

“To be honest, I’m confused about this. The ‘training’ camp… it’s…”

“Yeah…” Lev and a couple of other Nekoma kids come around a corner ahead of them, yelling their greetings and buddying up with the Karasuno boys, hurrying their pace with words of _‘practice after a meeting or some shit, put your bags down, let’s go play!’_ , forcing Akaashi to split his time between watching where he’s going and keeping an eye on the mischievous boys at the back. “Coach Ukai says it’s more to cool us down after being so fired up.” Asahi wonders aloud, scratching his chin. “Apparently sitting around will just make us tenser. Nervous-”

“ _Fucking_ _hell_ , Noya, piss _off_!” Tanaka booms from the back of the line, kicking at Noya- who’d been trying to lift the bald boy moments before. Akaashi thought it weird that Tanaka was shifting away and scowling instead of going all shiny-eyed and throwing himself around as he usually did. “ _Don’t_ touch me-”

“ _Noya_.” The large man beside Akaashi is in no way similar to the reticent, fretful boy who was mumbling to him seconds ago.

“Sorry, Tanaka…”

Tanaka sniffs at Noya and turns his back, stomping back out the front doors.

“What was that all about?” Akaashi asks him, only after Asahi stops staring Noya down and continues walking, “Tanaka’s usually… Oh, the…”

“Yeah, he’s… been really down lately. Suga says it’s the crash after winning but I…”

“Don’t feel guilty about what you have, Asahi.” The second year says softly, opening the door to one of the rooms that they’ll be staying in. He dumps his bags and keeps in step, “In time, Tanaka will find his way. But you have what you have, and that’s no one’s fault but your own… and it’s also no one’s business but your own, too. You have Noya, and that’s great. Tanaka has probably accepted it already, he’s likely just reminded of how affected he is by the whole… stupid system thing.”

“I… I know, I just can’t help but feel bad…”

“And who wouldn’t? I’d be worried if you didn’t- ah, but _you_. You and your glass heart, huh? Asahi, I-”

“He- _eyy_ , Keiji-ch _aan_!!” Bokuto slings his arm around Akaashi’s shoulder, tugging the dark-haired boy a sizable distance away from Asahi in the small corridor. They leave the building, heading down one of the covered walkways that’ll lead to the gymnasium. “What’re you up _to-o_??”

“You’re being a jealous idiot, Boku-san, please get off me.”

“Not until you say you l _o-ove me-e_.” The glare Asahi receives is mildly threatening. He’s unsure of its nature- in playfulness, dead seriousness. It’s hard to tell with Bokuto and his mood swings.

“Please stop talking like that, you sound like Oikawa.” Akaashi grumbles, muttering an apology to the taller boy and a prayer for patience to the roof.

“I love yo _o-u_ …”

“… I love you too-”

“Yay!!” Satisfied, Bokuto skips ahead, running into the gym.

“… You’re lucky, too.”

“I am.” Akaashi replies without hesitation, and there’s a weak edge to his voice, one Asahi has never heard him use. “I don’t act it… but I am. I really am.”

 

+-o-+

 

Taketora sees Tanaka coming, drops his lighter, and gets up to head for the door to the gym. What he hadn’t realized was that his jacket was still wrapped around his legs, so when he went to take a step forward, he planted himself chest-first into the concrete.

Tanaka’s feet come to a stop at his right ear. He can hear the rub of bare feet, could smell it too if his nose wasn’t shoved flat against the ground.

“He-hey…” He stutters, stifled for obvious reasons. It’s amazing he didn’t lose a tooth or five.

“Oh, shit.” He hears Tanaka mutter, “You okay?” Taketora groans, wails a little, and listens as Tanaka sits down on the small wall he himself was perched on a second ago. “No? Okay.”

“I’m so _sick_ of today.”

“… Me too, Tora.”

He sits up slowly, feeling his nose. _Not broken, not bleeding. I’m fucking lucky-_

“So what are-”

“Sleeves, Tora.”

Freezing, he looks down. The burn marks are blisteringly discernible- as fresh as they are, he’d always thought burning was less permanent than scars. Tanaka hands him his jacket and he slips it on, taking a seat beside the other spiker.

“I just want what everyone else has.” He mutters; in a way, he feels like he’s picking up from where they left off in the bathroom, minutes before taking the stage on the Orange Court. It’s comforting- Tanaka is _comforting_ in his world of hurt and highs and too many emotions. “I don’t- I just don’t want to be _judged_ anymore.”

“It’s just because we don’t have marks.” Tanaka murmurs back, absently itching his biceps.

“It’d be really obvious if people like us had _someone_ though, right…”

“… Why is it that people _with_ marks can still move around, have different people?”

“Yeah, Tana… Why are we so different?”

“We’re _not_ … apparently, it’s _unnatural_.”

“Apparently?” Taketora smirks, “ _Apparently_ \- what a rebel, Tana-chan.”

“Don’t _chan_ me.” Tanaka growls, shouldering the other boy as he chants teasingly:

“Hah, Tana-chan! Tana-chan!”

“Fuck off, Tora-chan!”

“ _Hey!!_ ”

“ _Tora-chan_!” He sings, lying himself over Taketora’s lap, stretching like a cat in the sun, his mind set at ease- enough so that when his shirts ride up, he doesn’t worry to tug the hem back down and his the littering of scars. “Ah. It’s good to know I’m not alone in this, though… huh, Tora?”

“Yeah…” Tanaka, in a surprisingly intimate gesture that shocks the air out of both of them, takes Taketora’s hand in his and scrapes gently at the underside of the burn-covered wrist with his blunt fingers.

“… I used to use sharpie too, you know?”

“Yeah, I kept sweating it off, though.”

“Really?” Tanaka asks smarmily, hand coming to a standstill and merely holding the other boy’s hand, “In your line of work, who would’ve guessed?” He begins to giggle when Taketora is _embarrassed_ by such a trivial thing- to them, at least –and flushes.

“Don’t laugh at me! I thought I was clever!”

“I could see it when we were playing in the Golden Week! Didn’t even hair-spray it to keep it there longer!”

“Fuck off.” Taketora complains, gripping Tanaka’s hand tighter and resting his other hand on the bald boy’s exposed hip. They sit like that for a long silence, listening as the hoard of students approach the opposite side of the building, going in to set up for training. “It is nice to think about, huh. Having… _someone_.”

Tanaka kicks Taketora’s ankle. After a beat, he nudges back.

“Yeah. Getting a house, sharing a bed…” Tanaka sits up slowly, pulling his shirts down and standing, turning to face Taketora. He’s in such a fluffy mood all of a sudden, letting himself be drawn to lean between Taketora’s legs, faces _close_ , forearms resting on the boy’s shoulders that scrunch up in excitement as they keep talking, going back and forth:

“Watching films until three AM, sharing an ice cream bucket-”

“But it has to be all one flavor otherwise-”

“It melts and they all mix together- oh my god, _Tana_!”

“No one on my team shares my views on ice cream, it’s so infuriating!”

“Yes!!” Taketora jumps up, falling into Tanaka’s arms, the pair of them _holding_ each other, in some sort of _moment_ , something _charged_ and live and _alive_ about the words they’re saying, the expressions they’re wearing, the way they’re leaning closer together and their heads are spinning faster and faster and _faster_ \- “I just want someone who isn’t all over-the-top about the soulmate thing, going on about it day in, day out-”

“Exactly, Tora, I-! Like, I _get it_ , I don’t have one!”

“I don’t really _need_ one, to be honest!”

“Y-yeah. Yeah! I’ve come this far without one, and if you can’t deal with me having a partner, then you can get _fucked_!”

“Yeah!!”

“I don’t need the fucking dot, even, like, we could draw our own fucking marks, change them every week!”

“It’s just a mark! And- oh, a _normal_ future, Tora, our own apartment, going to uni together-”

“In the same team!”

“On the same side of the net!”

“A big bed, for _two_!”

“Noodlebox diets!”

“And midnight walks!”

“Oh, we could go to a park!

“Get pork buns!”

“No one would be selling pork buns at midnight, though!!”

“We’ll buy those frozen ones! We can _totally_ cook!”

“ _Right_! Yes!”

“Domesticity!!”

“ _Domesticity_!!” They scream into one another’s mouths, as all true life-partners do.

“What the _fuck_ are you two up to?!” Noya cackles as he trots around the corner.

Tanaka thinks that, if he’d grown up the same way as everyone else, he’d be throwing his hand over his arms to cover the explosion of black ink.

Of course, that’s ridiculous, because Tanaka _doesn’t have a soul mate._

“But I could have…”

Taketora turns to Tanaka, aglow with some kind of knowing-cross-terrified smile.

“Yeah- I- totally, that’d be-”

“I’ll come to Tokyo- or- or-”

“Fuck, and volleyball?! We would _rip_!”

“Hell yes!”

“ _Fuck_!!”

“Oi,” Noya chirps, undeterred by the momentary intimate moment, if you count shrieking into your lover’s mouth an _intimate_ move, “Training talk! Bring it in to the gym, Kenma’s looking for you idiots.”

“ _Us_ idiots!” Tanaka swoons, sweeping Taketora into a spinning hug. “ _Awh_!! Tora-chan!!”

“Don’t call me chan!!”

“Ew, you two are gross-” Noya laughs, making sure the pair are following him around the corner, towards the gym’s entrance.

“ _You two_!” This time, Taketora’s the one who gets overzealous, jumping onto Tanaka’s back with a shout of happiness.

“Get over us already, Tora!”

“You two are so fucked up.” The libero cheerfully comments, shoving their combined weight through the door and in to full view of the other students. “ But it’s cute. Now _go sit_ before Daichi and Kuroo _kill me_ -”

Suga’s the first one over, knocking Tanaka on his back with a hefty **whump**.

“Calm down, _mum_ ,” He whines, suffering from the full weight of Suga- then Daichi, _Kuroo, Bokuto_ \- suddenly, Lev is screaming “Stacks-on!!” and almost every member of the three teams is piling on top of him and Suga and- Taketora is there somewhere as well, squealing for Kenma to “get the fuck off, go back to playing your fucking videogames, stop _smiling at me it’s creepy_!!”. He has to focus on breathing until the coaches call off the onslaught and it’s just him and Suga, hugging one another on the floor of the huge gym. “It’s gonna be okay.”

 

+-o-+

 

\- A.A.

**Author's Note:**

> iM SORRY FOR ANY MISUSE OF STUFF OR DESTRUCTION OF PLOT THIS WAS JUST FOR FUNA ND FOR MY OWN SCREECHING THANKS FOR PUTTING UP WITH IT <3


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